Dark Souls
by KitKath26
Summary: I'd like to think that I was once a kind enough person, helpful even, and that I was truly a pacifist at heart. Funny how that worked out, seeing as how I can feel the blood drying under my nails and hear my latest victim gasping for air as he tried to breathe with his artfully masticated throat. It was a beautiful sight, really. AU in which Akura-ou is as violent as ever


**A/N** : To be completely honest, I'm actually not really sure what I was trying to achieve with this piece. It's a relatively old one, but I felt sad for it since it was just sitting all alone in the corner. _It's set up with a first-person POV, however no name is mentioned for the speaker, but I would get in the mindset of it being Akura-ou and the plot being set in an AU_. Also, I would like to add a disclaimer stating that I, sadly, do not own Kamisama Hajimemashita. Now, onward with the story!

It started out small, and then it just kind of . . . escalated – no, _accelerated_ – to disturbingly massive proportions. Looking back, I should have known that nothing worth anything would have come out of the agreement, except for maybe pride and satisfaction. Then again, I _was_ a nobody. I was blimp on the radar, nothing remotely interesting – or threatening. That's not saying that I didn't have _any_ redeeming qualities. I'd like to think that I was once a kind enough person, helpful even, and that I was truly a pacifist at heart. Funny how that worked out, seeing as how I can feel the blood drying under my nails and hear my latest victim gasping for air as he tried to breathe with his artfully masticated throat. It was a beautiful sight, really. It probably didn't help that his lungs were squashed, and quite possibly deflated by this point. Did I mention that it was _all_ my doing? No? Well, it was and I take full credit for the carvings and contusions covering the soon-to-be-corpse.

Throughout the process of his gorgeously gruesome anointment, he kept on asking "Why?", as if that one word could save him. It was annoying and quite bothersome. After all, how am I supposed to concentrate when I have this constantly yapping voice aimed at me? I had half of a mind to just carve my own ears out, but I'm not that favorable to masochism, so instead, I tore his tongue out.

He screamed.

I laughed.

It's amazing how _loud_ one can scream, truly. Anyone within a mile radius could've probably heard him. Unfortunately – for him, not me – there was no one to save him. No one was coming to rescue him; I guess he never got the memo. Anyways, despite having no tongue to speak with, he still seemed to find a way to grate on my nerves with his annoying sounds. I just wanted him to _shut up_. I told him this, but he just didn't want to listen; he was a stubborn little fellow. So, he suffered the consequences. It wasn't very smart of him to push me; after all, I was the one in control.

As he continued to make his irritating cries, I grew entirely too _bored_ of the game we were playing. He wasn't very entertaining, but he did seem to have a never-ending supply of blood; it stained every surface it came in contact with. That was probably the only redeeming quality he held. Bleeders were always my favorite type. It almost made up for the fact that he pissed himself early on, almost. That was just gross; one does have standards after all.

Anyways, he bored me and my mind started to wander to the most unfortunate incident that had ever fell upon me my entire life: meeting the Devil himself. He wasn't hideous or creepy. He was actually quite normal, besides the fact that he ruled over Hell and that he was entirely too attractive. I was on the floor, bleeding and cold when he knelt before me. He didn't say anything or even make an attempt to help me; he just stared at me curiously with dark eyes, like he was judging me. My mouth was full of my own blood and when I tried to speak, I choked on it. I was suffocating on the very substance that gave me life; the irony wasn't lost on me even when I was so close to death. As I chocked, the Devil finally moved. He took his hand and brushed my hair out of my face, he was surprisingly gentle about it, too. He continued to stroke my head – as if I was a beloved pet – and shhh'd me as I coughed.

He then asked me something, but I couldn't her him over the sound of my beating heart struggling to keep me alive. My voice was rough and completely unattractive, but I managed to utter out a pitiful "What?" The Devil laughed and repeated his question once more. He wanted to know whether I wanted to continue living or not. I didn't really say yes or no to him. I just said that I didn't want to die. So, he stood up, looked down upon his nose at me and told me who he was and offered me a deal: my life for my purity. Too close to death, I was dizzy and cold and, most of all, afraid. So, I agreed, not knowing exactly what I was agreeing to though.

It was probably a couple weeks after my near-death experience that I learned exactly what I had traded my precious life for. I was just walking around town, enjoying being alive when I ran into a man, literally. We both fell down and when I stood up, I reached for his hand to help him while apologizing for bumping into him. When he took my hand, I was suddenly hit with this vision of him repeatedly abusing this girl. The scene seemed like it was on fast forward and rushed before my eyes, I couldn't really tell anything apart besides the screams, blood, and the very man I was helping up laughing hysterically. I gasped and ripped my hand from his grasp, causing him to once more fall on the ground. He said something, but I couldn't hear over the blood rushing in my ears. My vision had narrowed and focused solely on the man and I was suddenly overcome with an indescribable, but intense feeling.

After that point, my memory seems a bit hazy, almost as if I blacked out. I lost a couple hours between then and when I regained my senses, but do remember when I came to. I had blood on my hands and the man I had bumped into was on the ground a few feet away from me. His body was completely mutilated. I remember screaming when I realized he was dead. I practically became catatonic from the realization and sat huddled in a corner until the Devil found me.

Like he did before, he knelt before me and petted my head. It seemed like he was trying to console me, but I was in complete and total shock. We sat there for a few moments before he finally spoke up. He told me about what had happened and explained that in exchange for saving my life, he had made me his personal spirit of vengeance. I had officially become his own personal tool to exact retribution against those who had committed a grave sin.

Over time, I grew used to the permanent career change and soon learned how not to black out. Call me crazy, but I even came to enjoy making people pay for their sins; I even looked forward to my next mark, whenever and whoever it was. That's kind of how I ended up here, listening to my latest victim struggle for his last moments at life before he got sent over to burn in Hell for the rest of eternity.

 **A/N** : Soooo . . . did you like it? Hate it? Want to set it on fire and throw the ashes into the wind? Leave me a review to let me know!


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